


Imagine You

by MadMenagerie



Series: Shots of SoMa (A collection of one-shots) [8]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMenagerie/pseuds/MadMenagerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Often times, when she was younger, she would escape as the harsh screams and loud banging of her parents fighting made its way through her closed door. She would look up at the ceiling and imagine she was somewhere else, somewhere more like the places in her books with wild forests full of fairies or extravagant castles or magical worlds completely different than her small room with her crying Mama and slurring Papa. It kept her sane in a way, kept her from feeling the weight of her crumbling family, and most importantly kept her from crying. Maka hated to cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nick](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nick).



> This story was written for someone really really special to me. I wrote it at 5am with only 1 hour of sleep so please excuse the massive amount of plot holes and lack of coherency. This was really just a way for me to get some feelings out about a particular thing I'm going through and it's dedicated to my best friend Nick because of the inspiration I find in him to write how I feel. I love you, and thank you for helping me stand against the sadness and use it to move forward.

Often times, when she was younger, she would escape as the harsh screams and loud banging of her parents fighting made its way through her closed door. She would look up at the ceiling and imagine she was somewhere else, somewhere more like the places in her books with wild forests full of fairies or extravagant castles or magical worlds completely different than her small room with her crying Mama and slurring Papa. It kept her sane in a way, kept her from feeling the weight of her crumbling family, and most importantly kept her from crying. Maka hated to cry.

At first the tears would come almost instantly as she heard the initial slamming of the front door in the late hours of the night or early morning, and covering her ears she realized did little to block the words from reaching her keen little ears. Words like "liar", "cheater", "you don't love us" pouring out of her Mama's tear-filled voice along with the incoherent phrases that were typical of her Papa such as "it didn't mean anything", "stop being such a bitch", "I only had a couple drinks". The first couple times she had been so shocked that she hadn't noticed her face was wet until her small chest was heaving and her fingers clenched her sheets with white knuckles. She hated it because it made her throat sore and her nose stuffy, she hated it because her eyes itched and it was hard to breathe. Mostly she hated it because no one ever heard her or cared to see if she was even still asleep. Mostly she hated it because she was alone.

That's when she started pretending. After the first few times of being woken, startled, in the dead of the night, she came to expect it. And when the first few insults were thrown she began to hide in her imagination, transforming the plain white ceiling into a haven were she was free and happy, and not alone. There was always someone with her in her nightly adventures. Someone brave and strong, who grinned and laughed with her and sometimes even teased her; someone who would listen to her and hold her hand when she was scared or needed to be reassured. He was never very far away from her in her imagination and if she needed him all she had to do was think it and he was there. He was her best friend of sorts, however fictional he was.

To her he was more real than the yelling and the arguing and the crying. Because she made him up he would never hurt her like her Papa hurt Mama, he would never lie to her and would never betray her. (A word she had learned in the first few fights, having to look up the meaning in her dictionary after hearing her mother scream it from downstairs.) She had never really given him a name, or features really, merely accepting that it was only his soul that she knew and that was all that really mattered to her.

As she got older and the fights were more frequent he was more a constant companion than a fleeting whisper in the night to comfort her. He seemed to leave the confines of her ceiling world to follow her during the day and grasp her hand when she witnessed for herself her Papa's arms around women who were certainly not her Mama. She called out for him when she felt the tears pricking her eyes and he would be there to tease her and make her laugh or, if he happened to be late, dry her face for her and tell her it wasn't cool to cry.

And as she grew up, so did he, taking on physical features; brightly light colored hair, intense eyes that she sometimes imagined to be the color of garnets, a glinting smile and rumbling voice like distant soothing thunder. She didn't give him a name until much, much, later and simply called him the part she loved most about him; Soul. Sometimes she knew that this little imaginary friend was silly of her and eventually she was much too old for it, she was starting school soon. How could she be the top meister in her class like her Mama if she was conjuring up a person who didn't even exist to help her with her stupid problems? But the thought of separating herself from him made her heart feel like it was getting ripped in half and so she kept him, her little secret.

She pondered this gloomily as she wandered away from the party where she was supposed to meet her future weapon partner; each new potential partner was nice but disappointing. None of them felt right. She looked around, suddenly noticing she was lost. Frowning, she strained her ears to hear for sounds of the gathering but all she heard was the faint twinkling of… a piano. She listened harder and turned down a hallway that increased the music's volume. It sounded familiar in a way, like she'd heard it all her life. She came to a stop in front of an ornately carved wooden door very unlike the other does she'd passed as she wandered deeper into the school. The music was coming from behind that door and she quietly pushed it open, sliding into the dark room.

Adjusting to the dimness, she squinted her eyes in wary curiosity at the boy sitting at the piano, his fingers dancing across the keys.

He seemed to tense as if he knew she was there, but how could he? He made no effort to stop or turn around if he did hear her come in. She stared at the shock of white hair carelessly tousled in a deliberate sort of fashion and watched his shoulders dip slightly as his arms moved quickly to keep time with the melody. Her breathing was unusually fast during the piece but as his fingers hit the last note she could swear she wasn't breathing at all. He finally turned slightly to view his solitary audience, a grin crawling across his face. Something about it clicked in her mind, maybe it was the way the dim lights glinted off his seemingly sharp teeth but she couldn't be sure.

"Did you enjoy it?" his voice was low and silky with a hint of roughness about it, she imagined it to be like sand both comfortable and coarse. It sounded so familiar. But she couldn't place why.

"Yes, it was beautiful." She heard herself answer. He seemed genuinely surprised for a fraction of a second and he turned more to face her, giving a full view of his eyes. She inwardly gasped. They were an intense red, like rubies or garnets and she felt as though she'd looked into them a million times. He looked at her back just as intently as she stared at him.

"What's your name?" The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. The wheels in her mind putting the pieces together. His hair, his voice, his eyes, his…

"Soul."


End file.
